


(watermelon sugar) high p.3

by rideorparadise



Series: high [3]
Category: Ride or Die (Visual Novel)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23011975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rideorparadise/pseuds/rideorparadise
Summary: watermelon sugar by harry styles inspired this.
Relationships: Colt Kaneko/Main Character (Ride or Die)
Series: high [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653832
Kudos: 1





	(watermelon sugar) high p.3

**Author's Note:**

> watermelon sugar by harry styles inspired this.

The movie played long forgotten by Colt, who watched Freya biting down on a watermelon slice—juice from the fruit dripped down her chin and traveled the skin of her neck. Her head turned to the television gave him a full view of what his mind quickly turned into obscenity.

The scent of her strawberry lotion and pine tree branch of his joint, from their house-grown strain of marijuana, overpowered his senses. The fast flow of blood through his body heightened every touch of his sensitive fingertips against her skin and he craved a different type of high—one only her can provide. His fingers ran up and down her calf before he lifted her leg to kiss her knee, and he smiled against her warm skin. When his hand reached the hem of her skirt she smiled and soon it was off.

She leaned forward, tossing the rind on the tray with seasonal fruits on their coffee table. “Come fuck me,” she pulled him on top of her, the blunt—now stolen from his tattooed knuckles, laid between her lips and out came smoke with a moan.

The sweet-tasting skin path up to her mouth worth traveling over and over till her neck gets sucked clean, and the only thing left dripping is her pussy. He feels on his fingers, deep to his knuckles on her warmth. Her ass never fully touches the couch, it rises and falls to the rhythm of his hand—and she whimpered when he stopped.

He laughed at the frown on her face. “I’m just taking this off the way,” he lets his fingers slowly commit to every inch of inked skin. Knees bend and her lacy underwear is no longer an annoyance to him, he wants to feel _her_ and the softest of fabrics never stands a chance. 

His name is music on her lips when she’s quivering under his fingers. _Fuck,_ she cursed—or wished—out of breath. He kissed the last of her moans down before a pleasing sound vibrated around his fingers inside her mouth. “Like how you taste, huh?”

She straddled him on the couch, fingers digging on his chin as she blew smoke into his mouth, sharing the last drag out of the blunt with him and he lets it out—her hair danced together with the evening breeze that invaded their apartment, covering half her face—and so, hair held between his fingers he brought her locks behind her ears. Her lips satiated his thirst between items of clothing being tossed aside, in a rush to feel more, and all she could offer.

He trembled as her thumb teased the tip of his cock. A desperate squeeze to her hips should be enough of a cue, but it never was—she liked him begging as much as he liked his name coming out of her mouth—her lips quirked in a smirk, waiting.

“Freya, _please_ ,” his head fell back on the couch.

“More.”

“Please, please, plea—“ he groaned when they connected, “Baby, _fuck_. You feel – so good.”

A thin sheen of sweat coated her body when his attention shifted to the cactus tattoo—a happy memory, of promises made outside a sketchy tattoo parlor on their dreaded teen years when they were more time apart than together—on her left rib. He ran his thumb softly over it, making her shudder. He kept it there, reaching for her nipple with his teeth and hand splayed across her lower back feeling the slow roll of her hips.

He pulled her flush against him and he could feel—and hear—her moans everywhere. A sharp intake of breath, as he swivels his hips _just so_ , meeting her halfway. Tugging her hips down _hard,_ and _deeper_ inside her. Soon enough, his cock is coated on the slick of her orgasm—she pulsates around him—eliciting his own. 

He cups her cheek, resting his forehead against hers till his breathing steadies again. “Remember the day you did this one?” his finger traced the ink once more.

“Yeah,” she laughed. “You were being an ass.”

“You took forever to decide on a drawing.”

“That’s why I asked you to intervene,” she sat back on the couch—legs over his, her head rested on his neck. “But you never told me why you chose this one, though.”

“It was a cactus with a sombrero,” he laughed, he thought his suggestion would change her mind into getting a tattoo at all if he gave her an idea that was bad enough. “I thought you would never go for it, but then you had to go and make alterations to it. So, I guess I was right.”

“Oh, and you would tattoo _anything_ I suggested?” she quirked an eyebrow, raising herself up to look at him. A smile started to blossom on her lips and he just as quickly shook his head. “I fucking dare you.”

“I’m not saying I’m going to do it.” he rolled his eyes. “But what do you have in mind?”

Se grabbed her sketchbook from the side table and made a quick drawing of a watermelon slice smoking a joint. She turned it to him. “So?”

“You’re kidding me?”

“With something as _serious_ as this? _Never_.”

**🍉**


End file.
